Stories of Faith and Courage from the War in Iraq and Afghanistan

by Jane Hampton Cook

  Much like repetitive life back home, we pray more during challenges than seasons of ease. Whether we’re in the comfort zone or combat zone, God sustains us. If we routinely see life from an altitude of thirty thousand feet or fly through our day with our feet on the ground, God is there. He is with us when the sun goes down and when it rises, whether over the sands of a Middle East desert or an American suburb’s sidewalks.

  Prayer:

  You are the maker of sunsets and sunrises. Thank you for this day you have given me.

  “I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the LORD sustains me.” (Psalm 3:5)

  January 7

  PREFLIGHT PRAYER

  Maj. Brandon Reid, United States Air Force

  So here I was about to fly into harm’s way as a member of a crew that’d been flying together for two and a half months. We had flown more than twenty-five flights together and were well seasoned by Air Force standards. We knew each other’s weaknesses, strengths, and limitations, though we’d never discussed religion. Now here we were in the cargo compartment of a C-130 aircraft getting our final briefing from our aircraft commander

  Having gotten our mission for our first flight of the Iraq war, we went through our typical pre-flight intelligence and mission briefing. I decided to walk to the plane instead of riding in the crew bus to get my mind in the right place. For whatever reason I kept thinking of my father who served in Vietnam on an AC-130 gunship; he survived being shot down in enemy territory. Upon arriving at the C-130, I ran through my checklist, paying special attention to the defensive equipment controls. It was then that our aircraft commander asked me to lead in a word of prayer.

  “Brandon, would you lead us in a prayer?”

  While the request caught me off guard, it felt correct and needed. We came together as a crew and formed a circle. I said a prayer asking God to watch over us and our fellow brothers in the coming armed struggle. As proud members of the Air Force, we had chosen to join military service and sworn an oath leading us all to this destiny. I said some words of thanks and praise and asked God to protect us. If we weren’t meant to come back, we had accepted that and were at peace with it.

  We’d never discussed our relationships with God before and perhaps many of these men had been separated from any type of relationship with God for years. However, his unshakeable presence and grace was upon each man on that plane and delivered a sense of calmness all fear behind now, just get the job done.

  Prayer:

  Even though some on this earth have rejected you, I thank you that you are a God who welcomes us as we humble ourselves before you.

  “The One enthroned in heaven laughs; the Lord scoffs at them (the kings who take their stand against him).” (Psalm 2:4)

  January 8

  PARACHUTE

  Maj. Brandon Reid, United States Air Force

  I did something I normally didn’t do during that first flight into Iraq I wore my parachute.

  My father was a member of an AC-130 gunship crew in Vietnam that was hit by a SA-7 surface to air missile (SAM) in June 1972.[1] He was one of only three survivors. To hear him tell the story, he’s not sure why he lived while others died. Of all the details of his survival, the one I find most amazing is that after standing up in his aircraft, he remembers an explosion and confusion all around him. It was then that he regained consciousness in mid-air. That presence of mind gave him the ability to engage his parachute. Thanks to his parachute, he survived that day, and I was born two years later.

  Fast-forward twenty-nine years to my first flight into Iraq. I’m the one flying into harm’s way, not my father. Although I had become accustomed to flying into Afghanistan’s dangerous air space, it was not procedure for C-130 aircrew to wear parachutes. However, on that first flight, I felt compelled to wear a parachute like my father.

  As a navigator, I’d reflected on my father’s shoot-down many times over the years. I’ve always concluded that the parachute and a bit of luck saved his life. As we prepared for flights into Iraq, the intelligence we received painted a bleak picture for a C-130 aircraft, so I thought it best to don my parachute for that first flight, incase a SAM (surface to air missle) found us.

  Not until I returned to Kuwait and prepared for a second flight into Iraq did I realize the truth. Perhaps my commander’s request that I lead the crew in prayer steered my thoughts. It wasn’t timing, luck, or a parachute that saved my father. It was God’s will. God saved my father that day because he had work yet to be done. My own life was part of God’s plan. After concluding this, I tossed my parachute in the back of the plane. I geared up for the next flight following normal sans-parachute procedure. I looked to God as my saving grace, not some piece of equipment.

  Truth be told on that first flight into Iraq; the parachute was bulky and very uncomfortable. However, on all flights since with God on my shoulder, the weight has been lifted.

  Prayer:

  Lord, you are the great life-preserver. Preserve my life according to your plan.

  “Defend my cause and redeem me; preserve my life according to your promise.” (Psalm 119:154)

  January 9

  BOTTLE OF SAND

  Maj. Brandon Reid, United States Air Force

  Just like back home in the United States, we take photos of the significant moments of things we want to remember. So, I took a picture of the Army “kids” in the back of the plane at the onset of the war in Iraq.

  As we loaded them onto the plane in Kuwait I couldn’t help but say to my fellow aircrew, “How do they carry all that stuff on their backs?” and “Gosh, they look so young.”

  We ran several shuttles that night from Kuwait into Iraq; each time delivering about sixty paratroopers in the 82nd Airborne into harm’s way. The 82nd Airborne is an elite airborne infantry division of the United States Army. This mission was one of those moments where the Air Force and Army joined forces, demonstrating the joint strength of the United States military. Our last flight took us flying into and out of daylight, which made the end of our mission even more dangerous than the beginning.

  Just before our final departure from Iraq, I ran out of the ramp of our C-130 into the daylight and filled a bottle with some Iraq sand. While I still have that bottle of sand, I never look at it as I thought I would a symbol of aviation excellence. Instead, it’s a reminder of sacrifice. I always think of those kids that got off our plane in a foreign land and the seven who lost their lives. The fresh faces in the photographs are still embedded in my mind. I was too involved with myself and celebrating the aircrew accomplishments of finishing our mission that I never stopped to think of others who were entering battle and would not return.

  Instead of celebrating, I wish I had been praying for safe return of other soldiers.

  God promised his people he would bless them and make their “descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the seashore” (Genesis 22:17). That bottle of sand reminds me to pray and think about God as the Good Shepherd of all who serve in the armed forces.

  Prayer:

  I pray for those around me today, remembering that you love them and care for them more than I can ever know.

  “Know that the LORD is God, It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.” (Psalm 100:3)

  January 10

  DUST THAT TURNS DAY INTO NIGHT

  Corp. Will Brandon, United States Marine Corps

  The dust storm wind was so loud that it drowned out the engine of our amphibious assault vehicle. Tracks, as we called them, are armored personnel carriers. I was part of a three-man crew transporting fifteen Marines that night March 24, 2003, just four days into the invasion of Iraq. We were about eighty to one hundred miles north of An Nasiriyah on our push to liberate Baghdad. Despite the wind, Lance Corporal Mejia’s voice came in loud and clear over the intercom in my helmet.

  “I can’t see anything out here,” Mejia exclaimed as he drove.

  “Just keep close
enough to see the track in front of us,” Sgt. Connors instructed from the turret. “Everything alright down there L.B.?”

  “Yes, Sergeant, everything’s cool. Real dusty though,” I responded from the troop compartment. I was the rear crewman. My job was to keep an eye on the infantry in the back and provide security for them when they exited the vehicle.

  The dust was pouring into our track’s open hatches. We had been through a couple of dust storms, but nothing like this. Visibility was about ten meters, forcing our column of thirty-seven tracks to move at a snail’s pace.

  “Listen up,” Connors called. “I just heard over the net that we can’t move any further in this dust. We are going to set up our defense for the night.”

  It took several hours to set up our armored coil, a security formation resembling a clock with tracks filling the clock’s positions at 90-degree angles. After trudging through relentless dust, we finally got into position.

  When the infantry started digging, the strangest thing happened. The dust got so thick, it turned day into night. This was the darkest pitch I’d ever seen. It was so dark when I got out of the track, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, even with my night vision goggles. I had to feel my way along the track to reach the rear personnel hatch.

  Then a bizarre thing happened. It got light again. The world around us was wrapped in a strange red fog, as if we were on Mars. The dust wasn’t strongly blowing anymore, but visibility was only about a couple hundred meters. Half an hour later, it was dark again for good. Night had finally come. Because of the dust no one, including the enemy, would be moving tonight, so we thought.

  Prayer:

  Father, though the wind sometimes howls and dust hinders my visibility, I put my trust in you.

  “I am laid low in the dust; preserve my life according to your word.” (Psalm 119:25)

  January 11

  NIGHT WATCH

  Corp. Will Brandon, United States Marine Corps

  A couple hours into that night, the dust storm began to let up. As visibility became completely clear, we were shocked to see an enemy convoy about four kilometers to our direct front. Lacking our night vision capability, the enemy used very dim headlights to maneuver. Although these headlights were about half as bright as regular automobile headlights, they were very visible from our position. We were astonished. The Iraqi convoy stretched from one end of the horizon to the other. It was just sitting there, not moving.

  All I could think about was what a great opportunity for an air mission. The chatter over the radio suggested it was going to be a target for the artillery. We used the artillery quite often, and the round of choice was Improved Conventional Munitions. The ICM is a big bullet that bursts open and drops a bunch of little bombs that are designed to take out tanks. They could blow a two-foot hole in packed dirt so precisely that you could drop a soda can down the opening.

  Finally, after what must have been more than an hour of staring at this massive enemy convoy, we heard the sound of Marine artillery guns way off in the distance to our four o’clock. Five seconds later, we heard the burst, followed by the crackle of hundreds of mini bombs impacting. Unfortunately, all of the shells hit way to the left or right. Nothing hit any of the enemy vehicles to our direct front. The bomb had one effect. The enemy immediately turned off their lights.

  “Great,” we all thought. “We didn’t hit any of them and now we can’t even see them.”

  As I sat behind the driver’s station where Lance Corporal Mejia watched the thermal driving screen, I switched between binoculars and night vision goggles trying to get a glimpse of something out there. Finally we saw movement. More than a dozen large dust signatures were barely visible in the air. Only one thing could throw a dust plume that high a tank! Our twenty-six ton tracks are no match for a forty or sixty-ton standard battle tank. A .50 caliber machine gun could chew us up, let alone a round from the main gun of a tank.

  All we could do was watch and wait for help as we stared into the darkness with a giant enemy in front of us.

  Prayer:

  Heavenly Father, be my watchman throughout my day and night today.

  “Watchman, what is left of the night? Watchman, what is left of the night”? (Isaiah 21:11b)

  January 12

  CHATTER

  Corp. Will Brandon, United States Marine Corps

  As we stared into the inky darkness, knowing an Iraqi tank convoy covered the horizon directly to our front, the radio chatter keyed up.

  “We needed help out here and fast,” we pleaded.

  We had no tanks with us at that moment; they had all gone to refuel a big problem. The only thing we had was several shoulder-fired AT-4s, rockets which are only good out to three hundred meters in the daytime. The Iraqi tanks would make easy targets of our highly silhouetted tracks long before that.

  Our platoon sergeant, “the Gunny,” began calling our commander over the comm, the communications network.

  “Colgate, this is Iceman,” we heard come across the net. “Why don’t we have any tanks out here?”

  “The tanks say they’re not coming until they refuel, Iceman.” Colgate responded.

  “What do you mean they aren’t coming till they refuel? We are going to be in some serious trouble here real soon!” Gunny exclaimed. “What about CAT?”

  CAT is a Humvee with a TOW missile on top of it.

  “CAT can’t make it out to us,” was the response. “Ground is too rough.”

  “All right everybody listen up. This is Iceman. Everybody start your vehicles now. We are getting out of here as soon as the first shot is fired.” Everyone immediately started their trucks.

  “No one is going anywhere. Shut your vehicles down now,” Colgate shouted over the net; the anger quite apparent in his voice. Just as fast as we started them, we shut the trucks off.

  Mejia and I went into the troop compartment and unstrapped the AT-4s. We jumped out of the back of the truck, and called over to an infantry squad leader, a corporal, who had ridden with us.

  “What’s going on, what’s up with you guys?” he asked.

  “There are fifteen tanks coming this way, you guys need to get these ready,” Mejia said handing him the rockets.

  After Mejia and I returned to the Amtrak, the wind picked up. Everything looked hazy as dust filled the air again. This was worrisome because now we couldn’t see the tanks anymore, only the dust. The whole world around us lit up once again into a Mars-like amber glow. It was as if a streetlight suddenly turned on over a dark foggy street.

  Chatter is often useless, leading us nowhere. Babbling was no substitute for real action, real decision-making.

  Prayer:

  Weed out the fruitless noise and chatter in my mind and heart today. Fill it with the substance of you and the promises of your word for righteousness.

  “…a chattering fool comes to ruin.” (Proverbs 10:10b)

  January 13

  BIBLE IN A ZIP-LOCK BAG

  Corp. Will Brandon, United States Marine Corps

  To our horror, the corporal to whom we had given the AT-4 fired off an illumination round from his M203 grenade launcher, but because of the wind, the round drifted back toward us. Its tiny parachute carried it back to the ground, completely giving away our position.

  “We were dead for sure now,” I thought. I just knew the enemy tanks would loom out of the dust and darkness at any moment.

  “What are you doing,” I blasted. “The tanks are going to know we are here for sure now!”

  “Where are they, we can’t see them?” the corporal replied, not seeming to care that a lance corporal had yelled at him.

  “They’re out there. Straight ahead of us, about 1500–2000 meters. Don’t fire another one of those flares,” I begged.

  I got back into the track and climbed up to the troop commander’s station, behind the driver.

  “Can you see anything?” I asked.

  “No, nothing yet, too much dust,” Mejia replied. “Ta
ke a break. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

  “I think it’s going to be easier than it sounds, sleep that is,” I responded as I climbed into the troop compartment.

  Sitting on the center bench seat and leaning against the ramp at the very back of the vehicle, I lit a cigarette and tried to relax. Dirt cigarettes we called them the ones the Iraqis tried to sell from the side of the road.

  “How can I sleep at a time like this?” I thought.

  I pulled a small zip-lock bag from my uniform’s left breast pocket. Here I kept a pocket-size Bible the USO (United Service Organizations) distributed at Aviano Air Force base in Italy, where we stopped en route to Kuwait. Also in the bag was a plastic wallet-size picture holder with photographs of my girlfriend in Ohio and my family back home in Manitoba, Canada.

  After reading several versus from the Psalms, I returned the Bible to the bag and looked at the photo album. In my mind I said goodbye to everyone I loved. Then I returned the pictures to the bag and prayed. I thanked God for the life he had given me, my parents, and the people I loved. I asked God to take my life into his hands and do with me what he willed. When I was finished, I closed my eyes, laid down on the bench, and miraculously fell asleep.

  Prayer:

  Lord, you’re in control. Thank you for sustaining when I sleep and when I rise.

  “I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the LORD sustains me. I will not fear the tens of thousands drawn up against me on every side.” (Psalm 3:5–6)

  January 14

  ARMOR OF LIGHT

  Corp. Will Brandon, United States Marine Corps